


The Human

by MimickingMimikyu



Category: Pokemon Mystery Dungeon
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Original Pokemon Region, headcannons running this thing better than a president, lots of neat Pokemon, references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 03:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11432406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimickingMimikyu/pseuds/MimickingMimikyu
Summary: A world of dungeons, rescue teams, and Pokémon is steadily being swallowed up by the ocean. Hopes for future survival are starting to die and saltwater Pokémon are getting way too cocky. Rumors of magic runes and a strange species fly...Then a boy named Gabriel stumbled onto the scene, became the only human on the planet, and had grand adventure and immeasurable danger thrust upon his shoulders without any of his permission. With the help of the Sail Guild, some books of ancient language that are definitely not going to be returned to the library on time, and an odd team of young Pokémon, can he save a drowning world?





	1. Wind Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Windy beasts. Runes. Two wishes from two people made for the exact same thing.

It all started at the local library.

The public library was a feeble little place, a cramped room of broad metal shelves that were at least three decades old. Worn, bound tomes were nestled in their ranks like old hens, leaning over the empty gaps in the dust that were left by the attempts of people messily removing books. Blaring bar lights oversaw the rows and glared into whatever poor soul came wandering down the aisles looking for study help, buzzing with old wires and perpetual grudges. 

The heart of the ancient place was a set of three oak tables, attended by half a classroom’s worth of metal stools that were all too well arranged around them. A hanging lamp watched over the stagnant space. There was one person there.

He had a stack of broad novels at his elbow and an open satchel leaning on his chair’s leg. He was an awkward build of too much limb and not enough muscle, with an olive skin tone that was pale from staying inside that very library too often. His hair was dark blonde and shaggy, having gone uncut for months. Freckles sprawled over his nose under nut brown eyes, and they used to rise with his smile. He couldn’t manage one those days.

His name was Gabriel. 

He kept a studious frown towards his book, which was a summary of ancient Johto culture. Under his wrist was a notebook of runes copied from the text. As his eyes scanning the dog-eared and water-stained pages, he’d occasionally pluck an idle pencil from the edge of the table and sketch more notes. They were often unrelated and were useless for any school project.

They had a reason to be so; he read history for the intrigue. Nearly everything was a mystery, even though it was all created by human beings. Through all logic, it should be possible to figure things out. Or so he figured—he wasn’t all that good with people. Yet here they were in the modern day, given chipped ruins and preserved writings alike, with nothing to show but half-decent estimations. For his part, he had a few of his own. Not like they would be useful to such geniuses, but... 

He set the pencil where it wouldn’t roll off to skip to the chapter about Dragonspiral Tower. Colorless photos of its native Golett in action were fit among the long paragraphs like the puzzle pieces that both offered. The word “mysterious automatons” often appeared.

He brought the page closer to read the walls of runes behind the images, and held it back to squint at particularly flowery words from the researchers. The edges of his mouth lifted just a bit when he understood either. 

Ancient mystery was his escape. Getting wrapped in the fragments of old cultures was comforting, whether it was in the usefulness of the obsession in school or the great feeling of learning it all. He’d give anything to be out in the world and seeing it firsthand. He supposed that would be very well possible if he went and got himself a Pokémon and a license, but… 

… 

… 

…he sighed heavily, then picked up the pencil again. Referencing his sketches, and occasionally the book if he was mistrusting, he put down a line of his own in thousand-year-old writing at the bottom of the lined page. An impulsive need for expression, and better than screaming in a silent library.

'I wish for adventure', it read to any who could understand.

He stared at it for a long moment before glancing to his watch. The only windows in the library were thin and usually blocked by the shelves, so daylight wasn’t any help at his spot. If it was, he wouldn’t be staying there until five PM every night. 

Startled at the time, as always, he gathered the books and his things and crept to the library desk. “Mom will worry,” he told himself.

A quiet, awkward exchange with a very bored librarian later, he was walking the sidewalk towards a quiet home in the suburbs. The skies were deep blue with coming night, the neighborhood worryingly dark already. Leaves blew past him in twirling races as a strong, chilly breeze breathed down his neck. He was thankful for his gray jacket. 

Anxious, he picked up the pace. He wasn’t sure of what lurked the streets at night, Pokémon or otherwise, and wasn’t very eager to find out. Rumors of Venonat poison flew between gardening neighbors… 

Street lamps clicked on behind him with burning orange glows. He clutched his notebook tighter—he hadn’t had the mind to put it in his bag while he was in the library, and wasn’t going to now, afraid of crumpling the paper. The corners flapped when he jogged downhill. 

Suddenly, a nearby shrub rustled. 

He skidded on his feet, trying to freeze and dart around it at the same time, and nearly fell backwards as a result. 

A purple blur of fur and dust jumped out. Red eyes and hooked claws gleamed. 

“Ah!”

They stared down. 

“…” 

“…”

“…” 

“…” 

“…” 

“…Ve?” 

“…” 

“… …” the Venonat folded an antennae and wiped it clean with its paws. It continued staring at him blankly with its many-sided eyes, eventually clicking its jaws as a foreign form of an awkward cough.

Gabriel watched for any attacks a minute longer, then slowly started crab-walking his way around the fuzzy critter at a two foot radius. 

It watched, chittered at him again, then turned around and went bouncing towards one of the street lamps. He belatedly sighed in relief. 

/Something is stirring…/ 

His notebook was suddenly ripped from his arms by a furious wind. He yelped after it as it was sent flying past the shrubs, instinctively giving chase. "H-hey! Where are you going?!"

The slope right off the path surprised him, and he struggled to keep balance before tripping and rolling the rest of the way; the world went spinning. His side eventually slammed concrete and he hissed through the bruise. “Ow ow oww…!”

He shakily got up, head still spinning, and found himself next to a water reservoir. Trenches ran in two ways under the hills, both with a thin stream of murky water sitting in them. The well itself echoed falling water drops.

His notebook, flipped cover-side-up, was caught right on the edge. He snatched it before it could tempt fate further. 

/Something is approaching…/ 

The wind howled from the top of the hill like a hunting Hondoom. He listened, hypnotized, as it made the reservoir croon and every leafed plant in the area shiver; it almost sounded like something more than the wind and the Venonat was there, watching him from a thousand sides. Some sort of great power. It slipped a tension down his spine. 

He tried to ignore it while hiking back up the hill, going after one of the streetlights for guidance and trying to ignore the prickling on his skin. The wind got stronger, and he wasn’t sure whether it was because he was coming closer to the top or the weather had a mind of its own. 

On the way, he flipped to the runes he had drawn just ten minutes earlier and had a double take. 

/It is getting closer…/ 

The letters of his message at the bottom had turned blue. As the last of the sunlight died, it became more and more obvious that the pages were glowing. They changed color in a flowing sort of way, navy and cyan and glints of white, as if the stream of a wild river had been captured in the lead.

“W-what the—?!” 

The wind bayed around his head now, whisking up everything but the letters on the page.

/It is right nearby! It’s gusting hard!/ 

He threw his arms over his face, dropping the book for just a second. In that second, a force as strong as his own fear grabbed him by the sides and threw him from the ground. He lost sense of direction, of time, of his own belongings; all there seemed to be was wind, a raging gale blasting his ears and whipping his hair and slicing into his skin. 

He screamed breathlessly as the air got thin. Darkness came in for the killing bite.

 

-  
???  
-

 

“…” 

“…” 

“…! Oh! Oh, wow!” a young voice gasped. “Hey, look! Guys, look, look!”

“What is it, Chickorita…?” a drowsy voice moaned back. 

Hay rustled as a pair of tiny toes sat on a shoddy windowsill. “Did you see that?” they eagerly whispered. “A comet went by! It was so bright! You should have seen it!” 

More rustling as another set of paws came to the window. “You get excited so easily…I don’t see anything…” 

“That’s because it just passed by!” the voice chuckled. “It was super bright, I promise!” 

“Go to bed, Chickorita…” The other paws left to grumble back to its hay pile. “Stars…pft…” 

“…” 

“…” 

“… … …” 

“… … … …” the toes came down and the voice made itself into the quietest volume it could muster. “Star light, star bright…first star I see tonight…” 

It stopped a moment to smile to itself. “I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish that I wish tonight. …I wish…” 

It considered with all the caution that a young soul could have. 

“…I wish…that I’ll have a great adventure!” it asked eagerly. 

With a warm smile, the feet settled themselves into a comfy bed of hay. “Goodnight, star…” 

The comet twinkled on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He’s probably not dead.
> 
> Next chapter won’t be nearly as short. And also probably won’t be some guys finding a dead body. This isn’t Lean On Me. Or The Goonies. Or The Breakfast Club. Or whatever old movie that was. It had a chick named River Phoenix? I don’t know.
> 
> I Don’t know if this plot is even going to be your cup of tea, but I really hope you at least get something out of it, because it took multiple hours of my puppet hands swatting the keyboard to trim it up nice.
> 
> In other news, I need better puppet hands.


	2. Crocodile Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An odd kind of cave. Magic orbs and stairs. A loud confrontation and a very nasty bite.

Something had taken to shyly splashing him in the face. Little waves lapped against his cheek, slowly taking him out of unconsciousness. He was aware of being wet and cold all over, and shivered involuntarily before opening his eyes.

“Mmm…wha…?”

A huge set of jaws were facing him.

“…AAAAAAAAAAHH!“ he screamed, furiously backpedaling on the ground. His hand slipped on the thin layer of water and he fell, smacking his jaw on the stone below. He grabbed at the blossoming pain in his chin and rose to his knees carefully, fearfully watching the beast in front of him.

It was a Feraligator. Stocky and strong-looking, with chipped spikes down its back and old battle scars crisscrossing its scales. A broken row of its teeth stuck out from its jaw, forming a malicious looking smile. At the moment, it had its head back, roaring way too in-synch with the laughter of a woman.

It stopped and grinned at him. The woman spoke in tune. “Aaah, I live fer th’ simple things. Ya alright there, jumpy?”

His eyes widened. “…d…did you…?”

It stepped closer and crouched to his current level. A pair of yellow eyes squinted down its snout at the trail of red running off his lip. “Hm…seems yeh busted ya lip there. And yeh still look like Magikrap from whatevah beat ‘cha up in th’ first place.”

He just couldn’t mistake the way it moved its tongue. “Y-you’re talking…”

“Sure am,” it— _she_ stated. “How hard _were_ ya hit?”

With his mind racing and his tongue tied (and also in a fair amount of pain), he couldn’t answer. He tried to recall what had happened before this beast had come along and only came up with a journal in flight and a truly hideous wind.

The Feraligator smirked again. “Heh.” She reached to her side; he noticed the leather satchel strung across it with surprise, and was further stunned when an Oran berry was offered to him. It looked just a few days overripe.

He slowly took it, avoiding the claws best he could. “Th-th-thank you…”

“No problem,” she said with a honest—but still very sharp—smile. “Ya know how ta get outta here yerself?”

“N-no…”

“Hm. Wouldn’t trust ya on yer own in such a state anyways. D’ya mind followin’ me fer a couple floors, then?” she asked.

“Floors...?” he mumbled.

She stared at him with a raised eyeridge before gesturing to the space around them. “These here dungeon floors. Not sure how ya got in here if ya don’t even know what ‘cha standin’ on now…”

The walls of a slim canyon rose around them, colored an odd, dark blue. The ceiling was open to a distant sky, and a few stories above he could see similar cliff side extensions that appeared all the way to the top of the canyon. Huge, shattered pillars of an ancient monument rested like tangled legs amongst them. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the violent roaring of water.

“Whoa…” he breathed.

“The ol’ Bridge of the Strait,” the Feraligator named. “It was a pretty thing coupla years ago. I believe it broke 'round the month of June? Right dowsin' shame.”

“Y-yeah…”

“…yer a jittery one, ain’t ya?” she grunted.

He jolted and felt his face flush. “I…I…”

She laughed again. “No big deal ta me. Jus’ don’t go wanderin’ off into some Monster House, alright?”

“Y-yes ma’am.” _Monster House…?_

He eventually followed in her wide, clawed footsteps as she strode into a hole in the cliff. It lead into a hall with moss flourishing in the cracks, glinting bits in the wall giving a slight light.

His hand fell from holding his chest to bumping his bag, which had somehow managed to stay on his side after that…event…had happened. He peeked into it curiously and found his rented history books, thankfully unscathed by the moisture. And also his notebook, the impish thing folded neatly between the tomes.

He frowned at the pages. _At least I have my reading material…it sure was nice of that monster to keep it with me. That makes him about twice as kind as the bullies I’ve had. …that’s a little scary…_

They turned at a diagonal corridor in the hall and came to an open space not unlike a closed version of the platform he’d been knocked out on. A strange light from the walls made things a little impossibly seeable, something he didn’t mind the blink in logic for.

The Feraligator scooped up an Oran Berry sitting on the floor. “Lucky,” she said happily to herself.

“A-Are those n-normally just lying around…?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” she answered. “I hafta buy ‘em myself a lot though. The shops love me.”

He eyed his own Oran Berry with suspicion. Unknown floor bacteria could abound. But after consideration of his bleeding mouth, everywhere-ache, and possible concussion, he began peeling it anyway. The juice put a nice coolness on the old papercuts on his hands.

They came to a set of carved stairs in the floor. They were too dark to see down but almost seemed an entirely different kind of stone. He wondered, with a little spit of hope, if they were man-made. Maybe the Feraligator was some miners’ pet? A...very intelligent...miner's pet? ...who had mentioned going to shops and making purchases of very Pokémon-useful items?

“I should warn ya,” she stated as they approached, “I’m on th’ hunt fer some bandits. Pretty strong ones at that.”

He snapped back to her and nodded tightly.

“Stay behind me an’ don’t get in the way if yeh can,” she ordered. “I’ve got an Escape Orb if things git real rough, but I don’t know how well that’ll do a lost fella like yerself, since that thing’ll throw ya way outta my reach. But I should be able ta beat these guys easy.”

He glanced away, afraid of the violent glint in her eye as she said the last sentence.

She shot him another crocodile smile and headed down the stairs. He noted the odd blue glow around the top, which was an all too familiar color of changing blues…

-

**B2 Floor**

 

A flurry of bubbles abruptly slammed him in the shoulders.

“GAH! _COLD_!”

The Feraligator whipped around and pulled him back. “Hey! Back off, yeh Spore-smuggler!” she said with a snarl to some third party.

Peeking over her shoulder, he spotted a Krabby glaring them down, its mouth foaming with more bubbles. It spat into his guide’s eyes fearlessly, earning no amusement. 

“W-why’s it attacking us?” he mumbled.

“The Pokémon down here tend ta be wild types,” she grumbled, shaking bubbles out of her face and glaring; in response, it skittered away and braced its claws. “Dungeon Sickness, sum say. Places like these got a violent air ‘bout ‘em.”

“Oh…” he mumbled.

She lunged at the crab, finishing it with a well-placed Crunch. Then she turned to him with a smirk. “Yeh really are lost, ain’t ya? Don’t know what danger is when it spits right at ya.”

He kept followed her a little closer.

-

**B3 Floor**

 

They carried on through more hallways on a hunt for more stairs. The Feraligator had a beat-up length of paper in her claws and was watching it closely, barely looking up to handle the occasional assaulting crabs. Lines appeared on it as they walked, sharply charting the rooms and corridors they went through in thin, blue strokes.

He wasn’t brave enough to ask about it. Wasn’t brave enough to ask about anything more, really. He wouldn't understand half of it anyway. And she already thought he was a little crazy, which were words she had also used to describe the irritating Pokémon that she knocked out with one hit. She didn’t need to think he was irritating too.

So he stayed quiet, stayed confused, and stayed on the good side of the talking crocodile he had encountered after having woken up from an incident involving glowing writing and a wind demon that he may or may not have summoned by reading history books.

…maybe he really had gone insane.

-

**B4 Floor**

 

“Ah, nice. A Petrify Orb.” A sphere with a greenish tint was taken off the floor and carefully examined.

He sensed a conversation topic and broke his silence. “A-Are those rare? Or valuable, or something?”

She turned to him. “So yeh are still with me! Thought I lost ya back there. Ya got quiet.” She looked back to the orb. “Yeah, these thing ‘r pretty valuable. But more useful, ya see. They’re…” she scrunched up her face in concentration. “…some kinda magic ‘r somethin’, I can’t remember the details. I bet Empoleon could tell ya, the prick knows a lot ‘bout Dungeons.”

He nodded, wondering if he’d get to meet him and if he also spoke English.

She gave the orb a tap, making an odd, hollow note ring. “With any luck I won’t have to use this in about two floors.”

He watched it vanish into her bag. There was a curious badge pinned on the flap of it, a silver emblem of an uneven triangle. It glinted with a hidden power not unlike the orb.

-

**B5 Floor**

 

“I’ve been meanin’ to ask, what kinda Pokémon are ya?”

“W-what?” he stuttered, completely off-guard. “I-I’m not a Pokémon...”

She defeated the last Barbacle of the swarm and shot him a confused look. “Come again?”

“I’m not a Pokémon, I-I’m a human,” he said, frowning softly.

She kept staring. He noticed that she did this often, and usually at him; watching for just a few seconds longer after he passed down the stairs, or the bodies of the dungeon Pokémon for any fake fainting.

“….the Reverse is a ‘human’?” she asked.

“Y-you know, someone like me?” he asked. “Legs…arms…hair?”

“Ya mean a Hitmonlee ‘r somethin’?”

“W-wears glasses a lot?”

“Glasses?”

“Speaks English?”

“I’m speakin’ English now, I ain’t no ‘human’—“

“Train Pokémon…?” he trailed off. “Are…y-you weren’t raised by someone?”

She gave him a flat look. “…my parents.”

“N-no, I mean—uh—“ His hands dug in his hair. “W-well, I should have figured since y-you were talking a-and all that—that—“ _What corner of the universe did I wake up in…!?_

She frowned, looking equally lost. “Jeez. I just thought ya was sum kinda Tyroge evolution ‘r somethin’. Ya sure a ‘human’ isn’t just a…species of Pokémon…?”

“Absolutely…” he murmured. “I-I don’t know any attacks, can’t breathe water or fly or break boulders or anything like that…t-that’s why we raise Pokémon, f-for that stuff…to h-help us out…”

She squinted as if such a suggestion was impossible. “…well…I certainly haven’t heard o’ such a thing…though it might explain why yer wearin’ more than a bag…”

He picked at a bit of moss on his jacket and didn’t say anything.

The conversation painfully died as they carried on to the stairs. He started forming a plan of action for when the Feraligator would soon ditched him. 

-

**The Fallen Bridge (B6 Floor)**

 

The bottom of the canyon appeared to be like a particularly wide room. Shady and with a light mist above the ground, it was sandwiched between the slick walls of the cliff with no visible escape. A river of saltwater was pouring in from the front of the room, where it swang around a bend and split down the center to surround the place with two, white stream. Rapids roared behind them.

He gasped with quiet wonder after stepping from the disappearing stairs. (He noticed that they had been dissolving behind him. He took it in with the orbs and talking Pokémon and no existing humans besides himself.) Gaze falling back to the Feraligator, he nervously stayed back. He wondered if she would tell him the way out after this.

She didn’t notice his absence; her head was swinging about wildly, searching the room's corners. “…where are ya, cowards?!” she called. “The Sail Guild is here ta kick yeh fins in!”

A voice echoed from the head of the canyon: “Seems there’s just one of you!” it teased. “Are you sure you want to face us, the Strait Stranglers?”

“Y’all deaf? I said ‘Sail’ and ‘Guild’, to y’all who weren’t listenin’!” she roared.

“The rescue guild?” the voice snorted, accompanied by laughter.

“They sent a rescue guild team to take down us?” another cackled.

“We could take you easy!” a third joined.

The current ebbed. Then a huge, heavy wave rolled through, ridden by three Pokémon with proud smirks and confident poses. They landed with a splash on the canyon floor, the tide carrying on and washing over the cracks in the stone.

The Feraligator braced herself, eyes flashing with a gleeful sort of mania. He carefully stepped behind her.

A pair of Sharpedo and a large Clawitzer faced them. The predator pair sat in back and seemed fairly young, looking down their snouts at his side. The Clawitzer had a gaze like a barbed spear pointed at them.

It readied its larger claw and loudly snapped the other. “ It _is_ just one of you Sailors!" it declared loudly, as if ripping away some kind of cover.

She made a cocky, open-armed gesture to him. "In the flesh!"

"The sea will be winning this battle! And imagine the fame it shall win us!" the Clawitzer laughed. "Nobody's gonna come and bother us when they hear we took down a Sailor!"

"Then come try!” she shouted back with a grin.

“Y-you’re going to f-fight them all?!” he yelped.

“Yep! Only reason I came 'round the Razor Straits! That an' to brag ta Empoleon...!"

“Let’s go!” the Clawitzer ordered as its lackies dived for her. She charged in to meet them, crunching hard into the boss' side.

A battle ensued.

He stared on with fear, counting turns anxiously even as his guide seemed to be tearing them apart. Her jaws wrestled with the claw of the boss savagely as she clawed at him; they threw her about violently, with surprising strength.

Pulling their claw back, they charged a watery attack and slammed her upside the face. “A dose of Crab Hammer should straighten your sails!”

Her head snapped back with it. Then she twisted his way, a wild look in her eyes and a big grin on her face...

“It’s not v-very effective…” he mumbled.

…as she lunged back with a violent snarl.

The ground shivered with each powerful slam and every water blast sent a new wash of water through the place. It was a hearty battle; the two were nearly animals. Some throws nearly knocked _him_ off his feet. 

The Sharpedo at her sides kept diving in for bites to her back, but found themselves smacked by a thrashing tail and occasionally the flipped body of their boss. One was hit back so far it slid through the right stream and smacked into the wall behind it with a loud whump. He fearfully watched as it steadied itself, shook off the bruise, and noticed him standing at the back of the room.

“Ah…!”

“Hey, the Sailor brought a cabin boy!” they called victoriously, eyes lighting up.

He froze in place as the other came to join, then tried to figure out which seemed worse. Both looked all too happy to have a reason not to fight the Feraligator.

“Sure did,” it chuckled, flashing bloodthirsty teeth. “You any good at swabbing decks, cabin boy?”

His eyes darted between the approaching sharks and the wrestling Feraligator, who was too busy with trying to break crawfish carapace to notice the danger. He turned to flee only to find the drop off just behind him, where stone floor broke away into sharp, jagged pieces with white rapids slamming against them. And the room itself was only so big. A death trap of a canyon. 

They sneered at him. “Come on, cabin boy, don’t you wanna try and swim with the fishes?” one taunted.

“The sea will win! Whether it's through its Sharpedo or through its rapids!” the other announced, diving at him.

He slid sideways and started dashing for the other side of the room. He didn’t know how long it would be till the Clawitzer keeled over, so his only hope was to keep avoiding them; that proved difficult as one slammed into his back with Water Jet and sent him towards the wall way too early. His bag was knocked off and skidded for the edge of the floor, as if trying to flee.

A Sharpedo hopped into the water, braced, and charged him. He jumped back, missed the tip of its snout by a hair—and was hit with the dark strength of Assurance by the other.

He was sent rolling through the stream and hit the wall. His old bruise ebbed with fresh pain.

Weary, he turned to the Sharpedo who were quickly cornering him. “P-please…”

“Not a chance, cabin boy,” one snorted. “There isn’t much good prey up this channel; we can’t exactly go and eat the boss’ lower cousins, can we?”

“Hah! But he’s such poor game!” the other said, copying the human’s whimper. “’P-please j-j-just g-give m-me one m-m-more sh-shot!’”

“’I-I’m j-j-just s-so b-b-bad at-t t-t-this surviving buh-buh-business!”

“Puh-Puh-Puh-Please!”

“Puh-Puh-Puh-Pretty Puh-lease!”

“S-stop…!” He shot a desperate look for his ally, only catching the tips of red spines. And then a Sharpedo bit into his arm.

Freezing teeth dug through his skin and struck something sensitive. He screamed in agony as numb, prickling, blighting pain spread from the jaws. A cold shock jolted through to his shoulder, into his teeth, inside his skull, into his chest. 

“AAAA _AAAH_!”

The world was colorless by the time the teeth were pulled away. A Southern accent screamed a particularly exotic expletive that involved mothers and rear ends and Muk. Water pressure erupted some distance from his face and multiple sick crunches soared in the air. Something violently joined the wall next to him and lay still. 

It grew quiet, the only voice now coming from the grumbling water. He dared to open his eyes and found a much more welcoming set of jaws frowning with concern at him.

“Kid!” the Feraligator was shouting. “Kid, ya alright? Can ya hear me?!”

Still shaking, he nodded.

“Arceus, kid!” she groaned, looking him up and down. There was a fresh slash of red on her arm and one of her eyes was swollen, but she looked most sore from her concerned frenzy. “I knew those Bastidon would go after th’ weaker of us,” she grumbled at herself, “shoulda gotten to ya, shoulda fought for ya, I’m so sorry!”

“...did…you beat...th-.them?” he mumbled dazedly, trying to breathe evenly again. His world was still a little gray at the edges. 

“Eh? Of course! Sons of Bisharp won’t be pickin’ on any folks fer a while now,” she huffed, checking all three fainted forms before going right back to him. “I’m more worried bout you—hey, is yer arm s’pposed to do that?”

He could barely look at his own arm without heaving. It had gotten several new, unnatural splotches of color; blue from frostbite, red from blood, white from a revealed bone, and an awful purple everywhere else. Clear, heavy ice had incased the work up to his elbow and down by his thumb, which had probably kept his arm from being broken clean through. It was all a thousand degrees too cold for comfort.

But the Sharpedo had also taken a huge chunk of flesh out; he recognized skin in the jaws flopped open next to him and blanched.

"Oh m-my M-Mew...oh my - oh m - !"

"Kid? Kid, don't drop on me now!"

“No...N-No…” he said. “No…! I-I…I can’t feel my fingers…!”

“I’m takin’ you with me,” she stated. “That’s the worst Ice Fang bite I’ve seen—you really meant it, humans can't take nothin'!"

"Aaah...!"

She pulled him up by his good arm. Her claws hooked on his jacket sleeve and she seemed startled to pull it up without him, staring a little after he had gotten to his feet. She shook it off with a grim frown and fished an orb out of her pocket. “Arceus, kid. Arceus. What am I gonna do with ya?” “D-don’t leave me…” he mumbled. She shot him a worried look that he avoided. But he found his mouth still running. “I-I don’t know where I am…I-I don’t know how I got here…Pokémon aren’t supposed to talk, where I come from…and big caves aren’t m-magic—Dungeons don’t exist…I don’t know what a - a 'M-Monster House’ is, o-or any ‘Sail Guild’, or…! I…! ...all I d-did was get caught-t by s-some wind…! I-I'm sorry ab-about earlier, I th-thought I w-was home...!” “Hey, hey. Hey.” Claws gently took his bad shoulder. “Yer gonna be fine. I’m gonna try my darndest to get you back to yer own little world, whatever a weird place it is. S’ the kinda thing my guild does.” He looked to her timidly. She gave him a small smile. “But one bite at a time, alright?" she insisted. "Let’s get outta here. It's been enough dungeonin' fer the both of us.” "W-wait..." The boy slowly walked over and crouched to his bag. Slinging it on without disturbing his iced arm, he came back; sometime, he let out a sigh and a thousand pounds' worth of tension. “…y...you’re the first person to beat the Magikarp out of s-somebody who t-teased me...” She smiled strangely and then laughed mirthfully at the statement. “Won’t be th’ last, with yer luck!” “T-thank you…” he added. She put her arm back around him and lifted the orb. “Don’t thank me yet, yer still frozen.” Keeping him close, she smashed the orb on the floor; a blue light appeared from above and seemed to bring them up, pulling them from a dungeon’s mirk into clear air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure he won’t die. Who even dies to sharks nowadays. They’re just big old sea puppies. Puppy sharks. Bloop.
> 
> Writing that bullying bit was just slightly painful. Goodness. The little bit of me that’s still human even through writing fiction is sore with it. Might not have been for you all, since writing things takes longer than reading things. It's a weird paradox.
> 
> Who here eats Genova's. Because that pizza. So good. I went into a cheese coma and got divine inspiration from that sauce. Good stuff. Good stuff. Puppet hands would be snappin' if they could.

**Author's Note:**

> He’s probably not dead.
> 
> Next chapter won’t be as short. And also probably won’t be about some guys finding a dead body. This isn’t Lean On Me. Or The Goonies. Or The Breakfast Club. Or whatever old movie that was. It had a chick named River Phoenix? I don’t know.
> 
> Kudos are pretty neat.


End file.
